


Nights Unknown

by bittenfeld



Category: Trinity Blood
Genre: M/M, Male Slash, male/android sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:50:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3154616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Abel is feeling overworked and depressed, Tres devises a solution to revitalize him... However, sexual interactions are not something a Killing Doll is programmed for...</p><p>New – Chapter 3:  not a chapter - just a teensy silly bit that fits into this story...</p><p>To his surprise, the lips were moist – not cool and dry as he had expected them to be – and the caressing hands warm and tender…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tres,” Abel insisted, trying for some decorum. “Father Tres… umm… you don’t know what this signifies to a human. It isn’t… well… proper…”  
> “I understand what it signifies, Father Nightroad,” the android announced. “And that is exac¬tly what I intend.” Then climbing onto the bed, and lying alongside the supine man, the naked Killing Doll rolled to one elbow, and reached out a hand to Abel’s chest. “Now, do you wish to continue?”

Abel Nightroad lay awake in the dark in the inn-room in Albion. For once, the expense account allowed a nice medium-priced accommodations this time. But he couldn’t enjoy it – all he could think about was their losses, deaths of friends… and they were no closer to finding the source of this new weapon of the Rosenkreuz. In stubborn cruelty, his mind returned to Armageddon, the destruction of whole battalions, seeing men under his command die.

At least, the damage this time had not reached the enormity of that terrible war nearly a thousand years ago – but left unchecked, another Armageddon would surely occur. If they did not succeed…

The happy confident face which he wore for the sake of his comrades had vanished; he could no longer call it forth. Perhaps they had finally reached their limit, perhaps this was the beginning of their defeat. In all these past ten years, he had fought against such thoughts, for they only led to despondency, and despondency was a sure road to destruction.

He understood the long nights all too well, since Lilith’s murder – 900 years of long nights, sitting vigil at her coffin-side, wishing he would die too.

In a chair at the foot of the bed, ever-alert, ever-vigilant, sat Tres Iqus, his fine sharp profile silhouetted against the moonlit-flooded French-window. From his position he had an unobstructed field of view for both the window and the door across the room, should trouble attempt to ambush them. If indeed trouble was so foolish as to attempt an ambush, Tres’ guns would be blazing in a split-second – literally.

For that, at least, Abel Nightroad felt secure.

He only wished he could share Tres’ lack of fatigue and despair.

For the last three nights that they’d been on the road together, Tres had not slept either. But then he never had a need to – machine that he was – other than to shift into recharge mode whenever necessary.

Without turning, the serious figure at the foot of the bed spoke, voice a low, near-monotone. “Your respiratory pattern indicates you are still awake, Father Nightroad.”

Abel sighed. “Yes, I cannot relax enough to fall asleep, I can’t stop thinking about our companions, and how helpless we are. My mind goes round and round, searching for a solution. I fear that even prayers and meditation fail me now.”

“Your lack of sleep will compromise your abilities and the efficiency of the mission,” the other priest pronounced, eyes still fixed between the door and the window. “In the last seventy-eight hours, you have only slept six-point-three-seven hours. Humans cannot operate at full capacity under those conditions.”

Abel smiled. There was something in his companion’s mathematical precision that offered some comfort. “You’re right, of course,” he was forced to admit. “You know, sometimes I wish I could be like you, Father Tres.”

At that, the gunslinger turned to look at him. “That is an illogical request. You are a Crusnik-augmented human; I am a prototype HC-series cyborg. You cannot be like me. It is irrelevant to wish so.”

Abel couldn’t help but give in to a tiny smile playing along his lips. Was the android only responding logically, or was he perhaps trying to make a tiny joke with his direct literalism? Sometimes Abel had the feeling that somewhere deep inside that mass of sophisticated circuitry, the programmer had hidden a little sense of humor – although the forever-serious visage would never betray such.

“No,” Abel agreed. “I just meant that you aren’t affected by worry… concern… sadness… You can carry on at full capacity without any feelings of regret or despair.”

“We were ordered by Her Eminence to acquire information on the Morrigan System, and return within seventy-two hours. We have not accomplished that. We have failed our primary objective.”

And Abel contemplated that that might be the closest that the android could express to frustration – the inability to complete a task as ordered.

In the dimness, a deep sigh escaped the tall lanky priest. “Ah, my friend, I’m so tired. Tired of the war… ten years’ tired. Yet try as I might, I can’t find any rest.”

A tilt of Tres’ head, as though a shift of focus had occurred, a decision reached, and a new program activated by his central processing unit. Now the cyborg stood and walked to the side of the bed, his heavy vestment coat swishing slightly with each step, to look down upon the recumbent human. The scent of gunpowder and hydraulic fluid piqued Abel’s nostrils. “You must sleep, Father Nightroad. You must relax. It is mandatory for the continuation of the mission. Her Eminence would insist.”

A slight shake of head. “Oh, Tres, I wish you could help, but…”

“I can.”

Abel Nightroad wasn’t prepared for the robot to reach down a gloved hand to his pillow and tug off the ribbon binding his hair in its loose night-time braid. He wasn’t prepared for the figure to lay that hand on his cheek. And he certainly wasn’t prepared for Tres to unbuckle his gunbelts and drop them. With a heavy thunk, the huge twin Jericho M-13 pistols hit the floor. Then sitting on the edge of the bed, the figure reached down to unbuckle heavy metal-trimmed boots, remove them and set them on the floor. The capeleted-coat followed, slipped off slender shoulders and laid neatly across the foot of the bed, then the white gloves, each embroidered on the back with the Vatican’s distinctive red cross.

“What are you doing?” Nightroad questioned, starting to push himself up to a sitting position and reaching for his wire-rimmed spectacles on the bed-stand. “I didn’t mean…”

But Tres turned, blocked him, and a firm non-human grip locked about the older man’s wrist. “You will remain in your present position, Father Nightroad. As for what I am doing, I am undressing,” he answered simply, then stood to unfasten the sash and cassock collar.

It occurred to Nightroad, that he had never before seen the machine-man in any state of undress, and he couldn’t help a niggling curiosity – just how ‘human’ was the android beneath the clothes? After all, Tres Iqus was a Killing Doll, a dispatch-executor machine, created as an instrument of destruction, nothing more, so there was no need to perfect a human body for him. Other than the outward necessity for appearance’s sake of a human head and hands made of synth-flesh and skin, perhaps his form was no more than sheet-metal, struts, and cables.

The dark garment was tossed across the coat. Black trousers followed the cassock. Beneath, the android wore the simple linen undergarments common to them all – a plain hip-length undershift and loose knee-length breeches. All parts exposed – arms, legs, throat were normal-looking, save for several cable ports on either side of the neck, synth-skin covering wires and servo-motors; and irreverently Abel couldn’t help but wonder just how realistic the rest of the body was.

And suddenly a breath of something more than simple curiosity wisped over Abel’s nerves, a wraith of partially-remembered dreams, flickerings of half-formed desires never spoken or even allowed to eke their way into the conscious mind.

“Tres…” he breathed, and his voice was slightly less strong than he intended, “why… are you doing this?”

Non-blinking eyes regarded Abel. “To lie with you. To allow you to relax.”

The naïve answer caught Nightroad, and he coughed. Perhaps the android thought he was offering human comfort – certainly he had no concept of what that suggested.

“Umm, thank you,” Abel stammered, “but that won’t be necessary. I didn’t intend for you to… umm, I’m sure I can sleep now, just knowing you’re vigilant, Tres.”

“Negative. It is necessary. You have not been sleeping under my vigilance. Therefore, another sequence of action must be initiated,” the deep voice pronounced levelly. “I shall massage you.”

Now the shift pulled over his head, ruffling short blowsy auburn hair. The torso was perfect synth-flesh, a strong lithe lean physique.

“Tres…” The tow-haired man started to push himself up again. “Father Tres…”

This time, Tres took his shoulders, preventing him from rising. “It is necessary, Father Nightroad” – the same even level voice.

And then the last garment, the linen breeches, were dropped, and the gunslinger cyborg stood before him, fully naked, fully humanoid, a perfect beautiful creation. Intense brown eyes watched him; and in the wash of moonlight from the window, a gleam caught a flash of ruby highlight in the left targeting eye.

Abel’s breath huffed out at the perfect sight, and he couldn’t prevent a tiny thrill from skittering straight from his solar plexus to his testicles, stinging his private parts awake. That was something he had locked away long ago. After Jeremiah… after Armageddon… Coldly he clamped down on that line of thought.

“Tres,” he insisted, trying for some decorum. “Father Tres. Umm… you don’t know what this signifies to a human. It isn’t… well… proper…”

“I understand what it signifies, Father Nightroad,” the android announced. “And that is exactly what I intend.” Then climbing onto the bed, and lying alongside the supine man, the Killing Doll rolled to one elbow, and reached out a hand to Abel’s chest, sharp eyes a few inches from Nightroad’s face, watching.

Abel twitched, keenly aware; just the thin material of his nightgown separating him from something he never thought to have again. He gulped, drew a quivering breath, tried again to protest. “Tres… umm…”

But he could say no more, because at that moment, mechanical fingers locked into his hair, and cool dry lips came down on his, and any protest faded away into a helpless whimper… how many years… how many hundreds of years… The android’s eyes – ocular sensors – remained open and staring, until Abel had to close his own eyes – _no, no, he mustn’t give in… mustn’t_ …

But then, instead of pushing away, his own hands stole out to grip the other figure around the waist, and hold tightly, lips returning pressure. The life-like hairless skin felt smooth to his touch, but the body’s heft was too solid, with little give of real flesh – steel-omega titanium-alloy metal sheathing, gears and servo-motors, beneath layers of artificial synth-flesh. In addition, although he was shorter than Abel by a head, his smaller size belied his weight – the metal parts adding nearly twice what a comparable human would weigh.

For several long seconds they stayed in the kiss, until Abel tried to increase the pressure, but Tres remained motionless, locked in precisely the same position, eyes still open.

At that, Abel finally pulled back and chuckled lightly. Obviously Tres did not know how to truly kiss, but was merely mimicking something he had seen.

Sensors recorded Abel’s reaction. “What is wrong, Nightroad?” the cyborg inquired. “Is this not relaxing you?”

Abel smiled. “Tell me, Tres,” he inquired lightly, “where did you learn that this is how humans relax? I’m sure that was not a part of your original programming as a battle-machine.”

“I have observed Her Eminence and Father Havel in her bedchamber, as Father Havel often comforts her Ladyship.”

“Ah.” A raise of eyebrow. Of course everyone in the AX – and no doubt a few outside, such as her brother Francesco, the Duke of Florence – were aware of the unspoken intimate relationship between the Duchess and Father Vaclav Havel. And as Caterina’s loyal bodyguard, the Gunslinger robot often stood night-watch over his precious charge. Abel cleared his throat. “So you, umm, have observed this… more than once?”

“Positive. Now, do you wish to continue?”  
~ ~ ~

At the culmination of the intimate massage, a sudden powerful unexpected surge had overwhelmed Abel. Was it perhaps some convergence between the android’s electric fields and the Crusnik electro-magnetic force?

Now, as Tres lay motionless beside him, Abel thought of Jeremiah, remembering the pleasant secure sound of quiet breathing, the flutter of heartbeat against Abel’s chest, as they lay in each other’s arms in hazy drowsy sweaty aftermath.

But there was no sound from his present bed-partner, no breath, no heart-beat. And no drowsiness, glass eyes as alert as ever. And no sweat. While Abel was dripping sweat, Tres’ skin was still cool and dry.

“If only you were real, Tres,” he mused.

“I am real. That is an illogical supposition.”

“Yes, of course you are. I meant, if only you were a real human.”

“Why should you wish that? My specs are far beyond a human’s. Why should you wish to downgrade me?”

Abel smiled. “I just meant… there are certain… pleasurable human activities… that you will never be able to experience… never be able to enjoy…”

“Do you wish for me to be to you as Lieutenant Commander Alarcon was to you?”

At that, Abel’s head jerked toward the android. “How did you know about that?”

“Her Eminence allows me access to all AX members’ background files as necessary. ‘Abel Nightroad, Commander, United Nations Aerospace Forces, Mars Colonization Expeditionary Project, Year 2108 AD. Second-in-command, Jeremiah Alarcon, Lieutenant Commander. Mate-bonded, until Lieutenant Commander Alarcon’s death in combat, Year 2113 AD.’ I repeat, Nightroad, do you wish for me to be to you as Lieutenant Commander Alarcon was to you, and copulate with you frequently?”

Nightroad stifled a laugh. Put that way, it sounded humorous. But after all, it did pretty much describe his and Jeremiah’s off-duty hours.

“Why do you laugh?” the android inquired calmly. “Is that not the correct interpretation?”

Abel smiled. “On the contrary, my friend, that’s a pretty apt interpretation.”

* * * * *

_to be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now, my friend, tell me,” Wordsworth questioned curiously, “just why would a robot require sexual capabilities?”  
> “I intend to share it with Father Nightroad,” the android responded levelly.  
> “Um.” Another slight cough, lift of eyebrow. “And, uh, what does Abel think of this?”  
> “Unknown. He has not input his response.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (and yes, I know in the canon that Hugue’s scars aren’t really from self-flagellation…! )

“Abel,” Cardinal Caterina Sforza urged. “You must take a break from work.”

“There isn’t time,” Abel protested, staring out the window of Caterina’s Vatican office. The Rome sky was overcast with the first rain of April, as dreary as Albion had been. Two stories below, people scattered about the Piazza San Pietro – Vatican employees and random pilgrims bustling about, holding umbrellas or newspapers over their heads. “Not now. The war…”

“The war will still be here when you return. Abel, you know it won’t be ended quickly. While you were in Albion, William took a few days away. In ten years, you’ve never allowed your­self to relax. You must take some time, so that you will be rested. The next assault is coming soon. We must all be ready. Tres told me of your extreme fatigue.”

Abel shot a sharp glance at the android, who stood at his usual post to the right of the Duchess’ chair. The mechanical man stared back non-committally.

Caterina smiled gently. “Take a few days, Abel. Go to St. Marcian’s Abbey. And take Tres with you. The abbot, Brother Timotheus, is a dear friend of mine, and quite… discreet. He will look after you and see that you are not disturbed.”

“Tres is a machine. He doesn’t need a break.”

“No – but you need him. He told me of your fatigue… and his assistance.”

At that, Abel’s glance toward the gunslinger sharpened into a glower. “I told you not to trouble Her Eminence about… that…”

“That is incorrect,” Tres responded. “You requested that I not bring up the subject of your previous relationship with Lieutenant Commander Alarcon.” – to which Abel’s irritated expression melted into a flushed look of embarrassment – “However, you did not request me not to tell her of your insomnia and our remedy.”

Abel slumped in bemused resignation. Caterina allowed a tiny smile.

“Besides,” the robot continued, unaware of the subtle human interplay which his pronounce­ment had caused, “it is my duty to debrief completely to Her Eminence at the end of a mis­sion.”

“Yes, I know,” Abel sighed.

Caterina’s smile warmed. “It’s all right, you both have my blessing. You know that Vaclav and I have been bound for five years. There have been many difficult times that I know I wouldn’t have gotten through without him.”

Abel shook his head. “But to involve Tres… It wouldn’t be proper…”

“My primary duty is to assure the completion of AX assignments and protect its operatives. Father Nightroad, you are the most vital member of AX. It is imperative therefore that you remain in high operational ability. Therefore, it is within my parameters to see that you do so.”

“The most vital member? That’s not true – I am but one link in our chain.”

“What Father Tres says is true, Abel. You are the most valuable.”

“Why? – because of the Crusnik augmentation?”

“Not precisely. But the part you play is what will save the world, save humanity.”

“I am the one who tried to destroy humanity… _I_ was the Contra Mundi nine-hundred years ago. I brought this about, and I cannot be forgiven.”

“You are not the same person, Abel.”

“I am not worthy.”

“Please – leave the self-flagellation to Father Hugue.”  
* * * * *

“I’m getting close, Kate. One aspect is still giving me trouble, but as soon as I solve that, I really think we have a good chance of waking you up,” Father William Wordsworth pronounced confidently, leaning back in the leather chair at his desk, and pulling a draw from his pipe.

The holographic nun standing on the other side of the desk slumped her shoulders slightly with a small sigh of relief. “Oh, I really hope so, William. It’s been so long since I felt my real body. Of course, I’m forever grateful to you for figuring out how to let me function at all, even in this form. And you’ve been so kind to watch over my body all these years. And even if this new experiment doesn’t work…”

“If this doesn’t work, I will continue to watch over you, dear.” Another puff of smoke wafted over his head. “And I’ll never stop my research until I find a way to awaken you. Trust me on that, Kate.”

“I do, William.”

Heavy bootsteps echoed outside in the corridor. The office door opened, and Tres Iqus en­tered. “Father Wordsworth, I require your assistance,” he pronounced levelly.

“Of course, Father Tres. What can I do for you? Is last week’s re-calibration causing prob­lems?”

“Negative,” the cyborg responded. “The calibration is performing accurately. Now I require the capability to perform fornication. Can you augment my hardware and software to accomplish that task?”

A tight cough of surprise from the professor, and a sharp gasp from Kate, a sudden flush colored her cheeks.

With a quiet hum of gears, Tres’ head turned toward the woman’s translucent image. “Sister Kate, the capillaries in your face have expanded. Are you functioning properly? Please input status report.”

“I’m, uh, fine, Tres,” she stammered, then glanced over at the professor, whose blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “You, uh, go ahead and take care of Father Tres’ problem, William. We can, uh, talk later.”

Wordsworth was barely trying to hide an indulgent little smile. “I’ll let you know as soon as the results look promising, Kate.”

Instantly Sister Kate’s image vanished from the room.

Tres shifted his attention back to the man behind the desk. “My sensors indicate that Sister Kate was not speaking truthfully regarding her status. Did I injure her?”

“No, Tres, she’s fine. You just startled her, that’s all. And I must admit, I’m a bit surprised as well. Now, my friend, tell me, just why would a robot require sexual capabilities?”

The mechanical man queried curiously, “I spoke directly to you. How did my question to you startle Sister Kate?”

Leaning forward in his chair, Wordsworth tapped out his pipe ashes into the mahogany-carved ashtray on his desk. “Well, usually, in polite company, forni- … sexual matters… are only mentioned in private, and only with the woman whom one intends to share it with.”

“I do not intend to share it with a woman.”

“Ah.” A slow nod of head, slight frown. “Then just who…”

“I intend to share it with Father Nightroad.”

“Um.” Another slight cough, lift of eyebrow. “And, uh, what does Abel think of this?”

“Unknown. He has not input his response.”

Putting his pipe back in his mouth without refilling it, Wordsworth suggested, “Why don’t you start at the beginning, Father Tres?”

“The beginning of what? Please clarify, Father Wordsworth.”  
* * * * *

At least they had left the grey weather behind in Rome. Here in the south, warm spring wea­ther wafted on the light Mediterranean breeze, stirring the leaves of olive, fig, and cypress trees, and kissing Abel’s cheek with the gentle caress of a lover. Appreciatively he gazed up from his bench through the dappled shadows of the fig-tree to the bright blue sky above. Only a few white clouds wisped across his vision. Perhaps Caterina had been right after all – he did feel better already, the world’s problems shut away outside the abbey’s stout oaken gates.

The heavy step of metal-strapped boots approached. Scent of hydraulic fluid and gunpowder announced the robot’s presence, and the mechanical level voice announced, “Patrol mode activated.”

“We’re on vacation now – you needn’t patrol. Besides, this is a monastery run by Lady Caterina’s old friend, we’re as safe as can be. There’s nothing to be on alert about.”

“The location must be observed and all personnel identified, therefore I shall patrol. Do you wish to accompany me?”

Abel leaned back against the fig tree’s thick trunk. “Not now – I may catch up with you later.”

“Positive, Father Nightroad.”

As the android strode away on his self-proclaimed mission, Abel watched and considered. Caterina had compared the budding relationship between Abel and Tres to the bond she shared with Vaclav. But the comparison was not quite apt: Father Havel, however much of him was bionic now, after his conversion, was still a human being; Tres never had been. His organic synth-skin and flesh had been created from augmented laboratory-synthesized human-DNA, but he would never be human.

What an unmatched couple they made – he, Abel Nightroad, who had taken a vow of paci­fism, and Tres Iqus – Killing Doll, Gunslinger – whose primary purpose was mass destruction.

“We make quite a pair, my friend,” he observed to his absent partner. “You are a killing machine, and I am a monster.”

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ … _someday..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not a chapter - just a teensy silly bit that fits into this story...
> 
> To his surprise, the lips were moist – not cool and dry as he had expected them to be – and the caressing hands warm and tender…

So that’s what a lover’s kiss was like.

Of course, he’d been kissed by his sisters, Seth and Lilith, so many years ago… but that was nothing like this…

To his surprise, the lips were moist – not cool and dry as he had expected them to be – and the caressing hands warm and tender.

“Father Nightroad,” his lover said.

Abel shifted his head. “No, not ‘Father Nightroad’. Call me Abel. I think we know each other well enough now for you to call me Abel, Father Tres – haha, there I go! – Tres…. I assume it’s all right if I call you Tres? – after all, this is certainly a most informal, umm, situation we’re in right now…”

“Father Nightroad,” the deep level voice repeated a little louder.

“…really, though, I wonder what Her Eminence will say… this is quite outside of canon stipulations… perhaps we shouldn’t tell her just yet – ”

“Father Nightroad.” Again. “Your input is required. Please wake up.”

Abruptly Abel snapped alert, right into the glassy unblinking brown gaze of Gunslinger.

 

 _to be continued_...


End file.
